


You Knew Me First

by ConnorRK



Series: Reverse AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Android Hank Anderson, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, implied eating disorder, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorRK/pseuds/ConnorRK
Summary: “What are you doing?” he asks, and there’s an uncertain quaver to his own voice that he hates. He swallows hard, but all he can safely manage is, “Hank?”“I’ve read that sex is a pretty good way to tire someone out,” Hank says lightly, and the fingers on Connor’s hips slip beneath his shirt, wrapping around his waist. It makes Connor flinch nervously, but the weight of them, the soft grip feels so good. “Thought you could give that a try. What do you say?”





	You Knew Me First

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be another part to this that's actually got a bit of plot, but I really wanted some sweet android Hank/human Connor smut first lol.
> 
> I've got a lot of personal headcanons about this reverse au, but I think the fic speaks well enough on it's own without the need of a bunch of explanations. I hope u enjoy!

Hank is sitting on the couch when Connor emerges from his room at 5am, still feeling the sleep he barely touched dragging at his heels and pulling on his eyelids. He’s tired, so tired, but the dreams had been strange when sleep had finally come at 3am. At least it means tonight he’ll be able to pass out for a few hours. It won’t be long enough—it never is—but it will be something. Until then, he’ll keep himself up as he always does. Coffee.

The windows are morning dark and the house is silent. He’s wearing boxer briefs and a loose DPD tshirt, but even then sweat clings to his forehead and skin, shirt dark around the collar.

“Awake already?” Hank looks surprised, glancing up from the TV, volume inaudible to Connor’s human ears. Androids never sleep unless they decide to go into stasis, and for that Connor is only mildly jealous.

“Barely slept,” is Connor’s short reply as he pads past the softly glowing fish tank where Judo, a blue and gold beta, flits up at his approach, following hungrily along the tank. He taps some fish food into it, and Judo eagerly nips the flakes from the water.

“You tried anything? Warm milk, tea, that kind of stuff?” Hank asks curiously.

“Of course I have,” Connor says, trying not to snap. He’s tried natural and store bought remedies, and while pills put him out eventually, the aching sluggishness of his thoughts afterwards aren’t worth it, not in his line of work.

Hank watches Connor over the back of the couch, his LED a steady blue in the dim living room. Connor stares back, tilting his head slightly, gaze catching on the soft fall of Hank’s hair as it comes loose from the small ponytail. Hank huffs and returns his attention to the TV and Connor continues into the kitchen, suddenly glad that he doesn’t blush easily.

The dreams he’s had lately have taken a turn, and Connor doesn’t know whether to be grateful or resigned. It’s nice not to dream about his brother, or any of that. But dreaming about Hank is out of the question.

There have been too many nights where he’s woken up hard, Hank’s name on his lips. Too many nights jerking himself off, pressing his face into the pillow so he won’t alert Hank in the living room. It’s indecent. He shouldn’t be lusting after an android that’s only known servitude his whole life. There’s no reason for Hank to want him, not with Connor’s history of android hate, the insomnia, the unhealthy habits.

There’s a quarter on the kitchen table, and Connor swipes it, leaning against the counter while the coffee machine percolates, dancing it across the back of his knuckles, trying to take his mind off the dreams and to wake up a little.

In the living room, Hank stands, and Connor watches him turn the TV off with a blink and enter the kitchen, zeroing in on the motion of Connor’s hand. It’s something Connor taught himself when he was young, to steady his nerves. Connor does a few more flips of the coin, shooting it between his hands and catching it between his index and middle finger, and smiles slightly at the grin that stretches Hank’s face before setting it on the counter next to the coffee machine.

“It’s still early, you know,” Hank says, leaning against the bar separating the living room and kitchen, crossing his arms. He’s always looked so human, behaved so human. It used to piss Connor off. Now he suppresses a wider smile at the action. “You should try getting back to sleep—you need the rest, Connor.”

Hank is speaking low, quiet, and the way he says Connor’s name sends a shiver up his spine. Another thing that used to piss him off—how informal Hank is, how nonchalant about everything. But now hearing his name in Hank’s nearly gravely voice is a recurring theme in his dreams. Hank saying it quietly, yelling it, moaning it.

Connor turns around abruptly, locking his eyes on the coffee maker and crossing his arms, as if to ward off the thoughts. He needs to stop.

“I’m afraid I’ve tried everything, Hank,” Connor says, relieved when his voice comes out steady. “Only sleeping pills are effective, and they interfere with my work. I’d rather not resort to them when possible.”

“I wasn’t thinking of sleeping pills,” Hank says, and Connor can’t identify the tone. Mischievous, maybe?

“Well, what did you have in mind?” Connor asks. He can hear the shift of Hank’s CyberLife uniform, the deceptively light footsteps across the tiles, but doesn’t turn around. The only other sound is the steady drip of his coffee.

Hands grab him lightly by the hips, and Connor jumps, then stills as a tall, solid, warm body presses against his back. He grips the counter hard, knuckles white at the sudden touch, suddenly wide awake, and his mouth falls open but his mind is completely blank. Hank’s fingers rub in lazy circles against his hipbones through his briefs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and there’s an uncertain quaver to his own voice that he hates. He swallows hard, but all he can safely manage is, “Hank?”

“I’ve read that sex is a pretty good way to tire someone out,” Hank says lightly, and the fingers on Connor’s hips slip beneath his shirt, wrapping around his waist. It makes Connor flinch nervously, but the weight of them, the soft grip feels so good. “Thought you could give that a try. What do you say?”

Connor bites the inside of his cheek hard to keep from moaning at the gentle touch and presses forward instead, into the counter, trying to create some distance. There’s nowhere to go. Hank has him boxed in.

“I believe that would be a terrible idea,” Connor says flatly, staring at the brown cabinets hard and dismissing the traitorous flashes of his dreams. Hank is just offering to help him out, but Connor won’t be able to handle that—having a physical relationship and then just going back to being coworkers and roommates. He wants more, and if they do this, and Connor has to pretend that everything is the same afterwards—he won’t be able to.

“Your heart rate’s up, Connor. Plus, I’ve seen how you look at me. Wouldn’t have pegged you for being into androids, but everyone’s got something they like,” Hank says teasingly, but Connor’s heart clenches.

“I’m not-” he starts, and the noise strangles in his throat at the gentle roll of Hank’s hips into his ass. Hank chuckles and Connor’s face heats with embarrassment and shame. He shouldn’t want this, it’s wrong. “I can’t, Hank.”

“You could,” Hank says quietly, confused. “What’s stopping you, Connor?”

“It would be inappropriate to engage in a physical relationship with you,” Connor says stiffly. “I don’t intend to take advantage of you, and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” He shoves the hands off of him with more force than he intends and turns, forcing more space between them as he does, to look Hank in the eyes. There’s a small, hurt frown on Hank’s face, and Connor ignores the twisting guilt in his chest.

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. I’m offering cause I want to. What, you still too good to take an android’s help, Detective?” Hank says, and the title is like a slap.

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” Connor mutters. Of course that would be Hank’s first thought. Prideful, weird Connor, worse than any machine according to his coworkers, unable to ask for help or take it when it’s offered freely, especially not from an android. As if he could possibly still be the same man after what they’d been through. “I only meant that— I mean, I d-don’t—” He’s stuttering.

Biting his tongue he drops his gaze to the floor. In all of his wildest imaginings and dreams this isn’t how he thought a conversation like this would go—Hank _wanting_ to sleep with Connor and Connor being the one to refuse.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine, Connor. But I know you do. When you look at me, your pupils dilate 1.5 millimeters and your heart rate is through the roof. Sometimes I can hear you calling my name at night,” Hank says conversationally, like he’s not just stripping Connor bare between them, putting his feelings on display. “I know you’re attracted to me. So tell me, really, what’s so bad about this?”

Connor doesn’t blush easily, but his face is burning at the knowledge that Hank can hear him at night, probably calling out in his sleep. He wants the floor to open beneath him and drop him to the deepest parts of the earth. He closes his eyes hard, but when they open he’s still in his kitchen, and when he looks up, Hank is still far too close, such an earnest look on his face, LED a steady blue.

“I want more,” Connor mutters, and immediately wants to catch the words, to stuff them back in his mouth and swallow them down. They’re too loud in the bright and quiet kitchen.

“I can give you as much as you want, Connor,” Hank says, eyes dragging up and down Connor appreciatively. The gaze is like a soft brush, and Connor shivers under it, crossing his arms over his ribs protectively, like Hank could see through him.

“No, Hank. I want more than a physical relationship.” The words taste like iron and sound cold, even to Connor. “I want to be with you. I would be unable to handle being intimate on such a casual basis with you, while I harbor romantic feelings for you. So while I appreciate the offer, I cannot accept it.” His shoulders are tight, but he can’t force them to relax, to roll the anxiety off with a shrug.

He shouldn’t have said that. Should have demanded Hank drop it, should have pushed him away, should have gone to his room and pretended to sleep until it was time to leave for work. It’s too late. Bile burns at the back of Connor’s throat.

“You want… a real relationship. With me?” Hank’s voice is faint, disbelieving, eyes wide. His LED cycles to yellow and stays there.

Connor forces himself to meet the dark blue eyes. “That’s correct.” He can’t take the words back, so he needs to face this head-on. Whatever Hank’s reaction, he can handle it. Hank may feel uncomfortable, knowing Connor has such feelings. He might want to leave, and though the thought makes Connor’s chest tighten, breath catching painfully, he’ll face that too. It’s the least Connor can do, for putting this on Hank, and how he treated Hank in the past.

“And you don’t want to accept my help because what? You think I’m offering it as a friend? Like a casual thing?” Hank asks, eyebrows raising questioningly, like he doesn’t understand.

“Isn’t that exactly what it is?” Connor says, suddenly unsure. The floor is sliding out from under him, and he has no idea what direction he should be facing.

“I guess it did probably come off that way, huh?” Hank says wryly. “Listen, Connor. I’m shit at this whole human thing—I barely know how it works for other androids.” His hands come up again, grabbing Connor’s arms lightly, just resting. “But I’m offering because I want to be with you, too.” The last part is so plaintive it makes Connor’s heart stop.

“You—what?” Connor asks, and blinks rapidly. He leans back into the counter heavily, unfolding his arms to clutch it for balance, feeling like he’s drifting suddenly, and Hank’s hands are the only thing anchoring him to reality. “What?”

“Agh, don’t make me say it again. Fucking human,” Hank growls, looking away from Connor with a small, embarrassed scowl. “I want what you want. I was always a shitty android, but you made me realize that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Seems to me like we could both figure this humanity shit out together.”

“I don’t understand,” Connor says, watching Hank’s face attentively, trying to find the lie, the catch in his words. The LED at his temple is a cool blue.

“What’s not to understand? I want you too, dumbass,” Hank says, exasperated. But his gaze flicks back to Connor’s, warm and teasing

“But why? I was very—callous in my treatment of you, when we first met. Why would you want someone like me?” He can’t comprehend it. There’s no reason for Hank to want him. They’d been off on the wrong foot from the start, with Connor actually arguing with Captain Stern right in front of Hank like he wasn’t even there. He’d threatened to kill Hank over his own moral crisis.

"Connor, you don’t get it. You’re grieving still, even I can see that. I don’t blame you for being angry, for hating androids,” Hank says, tilting his head, obviously analyzing Connor now, his frown deepening.

Connor swallows thickly around the catch in his throat. “You should. I have no reason to grieve, Hank. It’s been years. I should be over this by now.” Even as he says it, it feels like a betrayal to Nines’ memory.

Hank’s gaze softens, and he pulls Connor forward, against his chest, just like he did outside the closed convenience store Connor bought his cigarettes at. The arms around him are strong, and Connor hates the way his body instantly melts at the contact, a sigh shuddering through him.

Softly, voice rumbling against Connor’s ear, Hank says, “That’s not how it usually works, from what I’ve seen. You watched your brother die, and you haven’t had a partner since. Then you get stuck with me. And yeah, you were kind of a dick there at the beginning, but you got over it. You’re the reason I could break my programming and help Leo win our freedom. You stopped the HK800 that would have killed us both and ended everything.”

“After I got kidnapped and held hostage,” Connor says derisively.

“It happens. Gotta say, you didn’t look too bad wrapped up in his arms. I was only a little jealous.” There's a smirk in Hank’s voice.

“H-Hank!” Connor pulls back, stunned, and finds Hank grinning down at him, warm and teasing.

“It’s so cute when you stutter.”

“I beg to differ,” Connor says, resisting the urge to turn away, to hide whatever face he might be making right now.

The wide grin dims to something soft and fond. “I want you, too, Connor,” Hank says, voice low and serious again, sending a shiver through Connor. “And I want to be with you, and help you, in any way you’ll let me.”

Hank closes the distance, a hand on the back of Connor’s head urging him gently, and Connor allows himself to be moved, tilting his head up, eyes slipping closed as Hank’s mouth presses to his. He doesn’t taste of anything in particular, lips warm, mouth opening, and Connor follows the motion, feeling clumsy and unpracticed. It’s heady and sweet, and Connor feels light-headed as Hank’s tongue touches his, like his breath is being sucked away.

“Why,” Connor mumbles against Hank’s lips. “Are you so good at this?” A laugh rumbles through Hank and Connor feels it echo through his chest.

“What, at kissing? Downloaded a couple of protocols, didn’t wanna mess this up.”

Connor’s hands find the front of Hank’s CyberLife coat, which he still hasn’t thrown away. It’s stiff and weirdly smooth, so Connor grabs the lapels and drags Hank close, breath ghosting across Hank’s lips as he opens his eyes to meet Hank’s beryl blues.

“At knowing me,” Connor says simply. He closes in for another kiss, Hank’s bristly beard tickling his face.

Hands grab Connor’s side, slipping beneath his shirt again, those large fingers hot and heavy against his skin, rubbing and squeezing his waist. But they don't push up any further and Connor sighs into Hank’s mouth, leaning bonelessly against Hank’s chest while Hank sucks on his bottom lip lightly. A moan escapes him. He wants more. He wants Hank’s big hands holding him down, those lips on his neck, his name in that rumbling voice.

“You knew me first.” Hank pulls away just enough to speak. “You saw something in me, Connor. When I couldn’t shoot Elijah, you told me I did the right thing.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Connor’s mouth, then along his jaw, sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

Head falling back, Connor gasps, blood running south. “H-Hank,” he pants, heart thumping loudly in his chest. The hands on Connor’s waist slide down, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his underwear, cupping his ass and squeezing Connor closer, pushing his thigh between Connor’s legs. Heat shoots through Connor as it bumps his hardening length and then presses against it deliberately. Hank starts a light rocking motion with his hips, and each slide against Connor’s growing erection elicits choked little moans he can’t swallow down.

“Is this alright?” Hank asks between open-mouthed kisses right behind Connor’s jaw, teeth scraping the skin and sending sparks of heat through him.

Everything is so overwhelming. The big warm palms on his ass, the sloppy kisses, the thigh between his own, and Hank’s own arousal pressing against his hip. He nods instead of speaking because he knows he won’t be able to get a single word out without stuttering.

The hands cupping him pull him hard against Hank’s thigh, and Connor’s breath hitches, hips bucking into the feeling.

“Tell me what you want, Connor. Say it,” Hank says, and Connor has no idea how he’s so composed still. Connor’s falling apart in Hank’s arms at just a touch, and Hank barely looks disheveled.

“I w-want y-y-you,” Connor manages. Hank rewards him with another rock of his hips, and Connor’s hands fly to Hank’s shoulders with a gasp. His dick strains against his underwear, and he tries to buck into Hank’s thigh, but the hands on his ass keep him in place, pressed firmly against Hank with no give.

“How do you want me, Connor?” Hank says, and his name sounds so delicious in the bass rumble, better than his half-forgotten dreams and desperate imaginings. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to finger you and jerk you off? Or do you want me to fuck you, Connor? Right here in the kitchen, until I fill you with my come and you’re screaming my name.”

Connor’s face floods with heat at the dirty talk, but once more the hands on his ass halt his aching little thrusts. He nods desperately, locking his hands behind Hank’s neck, trying to compose his face, to not let how badly he wants this to show through. If Hank’s tiny, knowing smirk is any indication, Connor is failing.

“Say it for me,” Hank says, leaning in, lips teasing Connor’s, darting his tongue out to brush their barely touching lips.

“F-fuck me, please,” Connor whispers into Hank’s mouth, trembling with need. “Fuck me and fill me with your come. Make me yours.”

That placid mask finally breaks, and Hank growls, capturing Connor’s mouth in a searing kiss and rocking them hard together. Connor moans into it and tangles his fingers in the soft hair, pulling the tie loose and letting it fall across Hank’s shoulders. The hands on his ass are kneading him, and Connor rolls his hips into them, and then forward again, grinding against Hank’s thigh, feeling the delicious friction all through him.

When Hank pulls away, Connor tries to follow, but Hank gives his ass a final squeeze and then pulls them free to grab Connor’s arms and pull them gently from around his neck. Though Hank can’t blush and doesn’t need to breathe, he’s clearly breathless, eyes half-lidded, hair falling across his cheeks in silver waves.

“Come here, Connor,” Hank says. He grabs Connor lightly by the waist, guiding him forward, and Connor goes, stumbling a little over his feet, thoughts scattered by the throbbing of his cock and the large bulge he can see in Hank’s CyberLife issued pants. He wants to drop to his knees right there and pull Hank’s dick free, suckle it and force the same noises he’s made out of Hank’s mouth. Break Hank’s composure over and over and taste his come.

But the hands on his waist are insistent, and Connor lets himself be led to the kitchen table and gently bent over. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and drops his chin onto them, chest flush with the wood and ass jutting out.

“Going to fuck me like this, Hank?” he asks, a little too eager at the hands peeling his underwear down, cock bobbing as it’s freed. “Want to take me on the kitchen table, bent over and begging for it?” A hand swats his ass, and the sharp burst of pain only makes Connor’s dick twitch. He bites his lip to keep from moaning and looks over his shoulder to watch.

“Sure am, Connor,” Hank says matter-of-factly, pulling the underwear down Connor’s legs and then throwing them to the side. He stays crouched, trailing his palms up Connor’s thighs, the touch tender and exploratory. It feels good, and Connor sighs, almost content to just relax and enjoy the simple touch. But then lips press to the skin of his inner thigh, sucking a kiss that shoots straight to his dick, and he groans into his arms.

“What’s this from?” Hank asks curiously, and his tongue circles an indent in Connor’s skin, a scar that Connor had forgotten about.

“It’s from-from a, _ah_ , knife, armed r-robber.” Hank’s pressing little kisses around it, nipping and sucking at his thigh. “Don’t t-tease me,” he pants, gripping his arms tight, and then yelps.

Teeth graze against his tender skin, pinching and then piercing, before a tongue lathes the mark and lips close over, sucking. Connor’s knees nearly buckle at the overwhelming pain and pleasure, and he can feel precome sliding down his dick. Hands grab his thighs, grip like iron, strong enough to bruise, and peel them apart from where they’d tried to press together. Then Hank’s mouth is on him again, biting and sucking up and down the inside of his thighs.

Connor drops his face into his arms, little whimpers escaping him at each kiss, each bite, each suck against his skin. It’s painfully sweet, and Hank makes little pleased hums against the marks.

Finally the hands release his legs, sliding further up to take a handful of his ass and pull him apart, exposing him to the cool kitchen air. A shiver runs down his spine at the warm breath against his hole.

“There’s lube,” Connor says, tongue thick and too heavy. “In the bedroom.”

“Don’t need it,” Hank says, voice rough.

A pang of worry hits him, and Connor lifts his head to look back. He can barely see Hank’s LED, a steady yellow.

“I definitely— _aah!_ ” The moan is high and startled at the first swipe of Hank’s tongue, warm and wet against Connor’s rim.

Hank presses his face into Connor’s ass, beard prickling the tops of his thighs, laughing, and Connor wants to kick him. The sound reverberates through Connor’s skin, into his bones. Then that tongue is lapping at his hole, insistent, the tip pressing in.

“Hank!” Connor cries, digging his nails into his arms and pressing his forehead against them. “H-Hank!”

Fingers catch his rim, pulling him open, giving Hank room to push his tongue in, wet and slick with something that’s smoother than human saliva. It burns a little to be spread, but Hank’s tongue working him open is an easy distraction. He thrusts in and out slowly, circling Connor’s rim before plunging in again, the wriggly movements strange but exciting. Connor’s legs tremble with the force of holding himself up. His dick aches, and he wants to take himself in hand and pump until he comes with Hank’s tongue fucking him open.

But Connor also wants Hank to fill him and hold him, to kiss him while they rut together on his kitchen table. He wants to watch Hank’s normally placid expression fall apart because of Connor. So he digs his nails into his arms, leaving little half-moons in his skin, bearing down on them as he pushes back into Hank’s tongue.

Pulling away, Hank’s voice is husky as he says, “You’re so good, Connor. So good for me. I love your little pink pucker, how it twitches and begs for more.” Then he swirls his tongue around Connor’s hole and pushes in again, pressing his lips to Connor’s rim and sucking a kiss. Throwing his head back, Connor moans.

He can feel Hank’s thick thumb pushing in next to the tongue, and Connor helpfully pushes back onto it, sighing as it stretches him further, pushes in deeper.

“Please, Hank, please,” he babbles mindlessly, and it’s like something in him breaks. He’s thrusting back helplessly, cock and asshole twitching and desperate. “I need m-more. Please, please, give me more, it’s not enough.” The tongue and thumb retreats, and Connor groans at the loss.

“It’s not enough, huh?” Hank says. Two slick fingers circle his rim, teasing, and Connor rocks his hips, trying to force them inside, but Hank’s iron grip on his ass holds him in place. Only when Connor manages to stay still for a few seconds—while Hank skims his fingers down his ass and across his balls, then back up to prod him lightly—do they sink into him, Connor’s wet hole taking them easily. Then a third, and the stretch burns again, but it’s so good.

“H-Hank,” Connor pants, and realizes he’s drooling on his arms and the tabletop. Hank begins a gentle, circular rhythm, opening him up. The pads of his fingers massage Connor’s inner walls, searching, exploring.

“You look so beautiful with my fingers in you,” Hank says, voice tight, and Connor drags his head up weakly to look over his shoulder.

Hank is standing again, fingers still pressed deep into Connor. His hair is a mess, and Connor can barely see the pulsing blue of his LED. He fixes Connor with a dark, half-lidded look, and rolls his hips, a sigh escaping his slightly open mouth. Connor pushes up on his elbows and finally sees that Hank’s pants are unbuttoned and hanging open around his thighs, and he’s got a hand wrapped around his thick dick, working it leisurely. The head drips a clear fluid, and the sight of it disappearing into Hank’s big hand and reappearing slowly sends a shiver of want through him.

“N-No fair,” Connor mutters, and thrusts his hips pointedly, cock bobbing.

Hank grins, slow and wicked, and the pace of his fingers in Connor’s ass pick up and deepen. They hit his prostate, and a surge of pleasure floods him, his arms giving out beneath him as he cries out, hips quivering. Hank hits it again, and a third time, and Connor thinks he might come just from this, without his dick being touched at all.

“Is that fair enough for you, Connor?” Hank rasps, and his fingers ease up from their demanding pace, giving Connor a moment to reel himself in from the edge.

“Hank, q-quit teasing me, dammit,” Connor manages, plastered as he is to the table, rocking languidly into the fingers. “I thought androids were supposed to follow orders.”

“Like I said, I’ve always been a shitty android,” Hank says, pulling his fingers out with a wet pop that leaves Connor’s hole twitching and empty.

“And I’ve always been a shitty human,” Connor says breathlessly, glad when he manages not to stutter this time. Leveraging himself up onto one elbow, he rolls over onto his back, propping himself up on one elbow. “Falling for a robot,” he mutters, but can’t stop the small smile pulling at his lips.

He lifts a leg, resting his foot on the table edge, and lets his knee fall to the side, revealing the shiny teeth marks lining his aching thigh. His cock is cherry red and drooling fine strings of precome, and the hungry look on Hank’s face when Conner reaches between his legs and spreads himself open with two fingers is fascinating.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Connor,” Hank says huskily, LED pulsing a lazy yellow, and Connor just knows Hank’s scanning him. Probably saving this image in his hard drive.

“Don’t tell me you’re only interesting in looking, Detective,” Connor says, rocking his hips slowly, tauntingly. “I thought you were gonna fuck me until I’m screaming your name?”

But Hank doesn’t take the bait, to Connor’s annoyance. Damn android probably knows exactly what Connor’s doing. Instead, Hank slides a hand up the marks he left on Connor’s thigh, and Connor shivers over the sweet pain. The hand catches in the crook of Connor’s knee, bending it back towards Connor, spreading him open even more and forcing Connor to drop fully onto the table.

Hank’s other hand comes to rest against Connor’s pelvis, and the heat of that hand so close to his dick has a whine escaping Connor’s throat before he can catch it. Hank chuckles, letting his palm and fingers skim up Connor’s torso, grabbing the edge of his shirt.

Connor tenses, and Hank must feel it in his trembling thigh, see the tightness in Connor’s muscles, because the hand pauses. He can practically feel Hank’s questioning gaze, but Connor stares hard at the ceiling, trying to pretend like his pulse isn’t pounding in his ears.

“I don’t believe you would like to see me without a shirt,” he says quietly, fingers digging into the wood below him. “You may be disappointed.”

“Nothing about you could ever disappoint me, Connor,” Hank says, leaning over him until Connor is forced to acknowledge him. Hank captures his lips, and Connor’s mouth opens automatically, the slide of their tongues together so sweet, so intoxicating. But there’s still the nervous lurch in his stomach, telling him to keep himself covered, that Hank will be dismayed.

“May I?” Hank whispers against his lips, so soft but so strong.

He wants Hank to know—that’s the scariest part. Hank’s seen all the worst parts of Connor except for this, and he doesn’t want to hide it, but his heart is pounding at the thought of what Hank will say. The disappointment that will flash in his eyes. Connor squeezes his eyes shut and balls his hands into fists at his side, and then nods once.

His lips are captured again. Hank is obviously trying to distract him, but he can still feel the tickle of his sweat-soaked shirt sliding up, revealing him inch by inch. Hank’s warm fingers skim his stomach, thumbing over a puckered mark from a bullet. Dozens of silvery scars across his torso mark his time as an officer, the dangers of his job. But when the palm smooths across the unhealthy ridges of his ribs, Connor sucks in a sharp breath, freezing beneath Hank.

“I’ve got you, Connor,” Hank says, pressing a kiss to the side of Connor’s mouth.

Letting his eyes slip open, he studies Hank’s face carefully, waiting for the drop, the disillusionment. He’s not malnourished, he’s not skin and bones by any means, but they’re too prominent all the same. Even long nights at the gym can’t hide what he’s done to himself. But Hank just presses another kiss to the corner of his lips, and fingers stroke his ribs almost reverently.

“I haven’t been—” The words dry in Connor’s throat. He hasn’t been a lot of things since his brother died. He hasn’t been a good person. He hasn’t been careful. He hasn’t been sleeping. He hasn’t been taking care of himself. He hasn’t been eating.

Hank shushes him, the hand on Connor’s leg rubbing soothing circles with the thumb against the side of his knee. “I know, Connor. I’ve got you.” His fingers trace Connor’s ribs tenderly.

“Okay,” Connor says, and gives in to his instincts, leaning into the hand, wishing Hank would touch him all over. Would slide his big hands over Connor’s chest, around his neck, over his shoulders, encompass him and press that tender acceptance into every inch of him. Anywhere Connor can be touched, he wants it, burns for it. He moans softly as Hank’s thumb flicks his nipple. He’s not particularly sensitive there, but the fact that it’s Hank doing it makes a world of difference.

Hank, the android sent by CyberLife to hunt deviants, and the only partner Connor hadn’t managed to scare off. Hank, who saved Connor’s life, not just from doing stupid things like trying to chase two androids across a freeway, but from letting himself waste away because it was the easier option. Hank, who was more human than Connor ever was, always choosing to save the helpless, the hurt. Hank, who’s seen every dirty, terrible side of Connor and still wants him.

Reaching between them, Connor’s fingers find Hank’s erection, and Hank’s hips stutter at the touch, hissing a breath between his clenched teeth. He wants to make Hank feel as good as he’s made Connor feel, and he watches Hank’s expression carefully, the way his mouth drops open and his eyes flutter shut as Connor strokes. His fingers barely close around the thickness, and he silently thanks whatever CyberLife technician had decided that android detectives needed to be hung.

Watching Hank pant over him, his LED spinning yellow, stokes the heat in Connor’s groin. He rubs a thumb over the head, gathering whatever android’s use as precome, slicking his hand and easing his strokes.

“Oh, shit,” Hank groans, hips thrusting into Connor’s grip. He could be content to jerk Hank off, to watch the fascinating play of reactions across Hank’s face without any distractions until he comes in Connor’s hand.

The hand on his chest clutches at his side, fingers digging into his ribs, and Connor’s rhythm falters for a moment from the uneasy urge to push Hank aside and cover himself. Then Hank is leaning down, pressing his mouth to Connor’s abdomen, nipping at his raised ribs, suckling against the spot he bites, and Connor bites his cheek to hold in a shout.

It’s so much, too much, and Connor bucks up into Hank, dick finally finding some friction against Hank’s solid stomach. The CyberLife uniform feels weird, too smooth to be scratchy, yet uncomfortable all the same, but he can’t stop. He needs more.

“H-Hank,” he grits out.

“I know, Connor, I know,” Hank mumbles against Connor’s chest, laving another bite mark.

Connor grips Hank’s cock, lifting his hips and guiding it to his hole. It’s thicker than the three fingers Hank prepared him with, but he’s still slick from being tongued open, and his voice cracks on a moan as the head pushes past his rim. Hot breath gusts across his skin as Hank groans into his chest.

Releasing Hank’s dick, he takes a fistful of Hank’s hair and hauls him up, shoving their mouths together. He hooks the leg Hank isn’t holding around the android’s waist and lifts his hips at the same time, hitching a strangled noise as he stretches around Hank’s cock, taking more.

“Oh, fuck,” Hank grunts, and then licks into Connor’s open, panting mouth. He slides his hand beneath Connor, pressing his hot palm flat against Connor’s back, holding him tight as he pushes in another inch. “You’re so _tight_ , Connor.”

It burns so good, and he wants more, he wants it all. He tenses the leg around Hank’s waist, drawing him in steadily, his hole stretching beyond it’s limit, catching Hank’s static-filled groan in his mouth as he bottoms out. They pause, breaths mingling, lips not quite touching, both caught in the pleasure, and Connor cups Hank’s face with one hand, running his fingers through the curling silver of his beard.

“S-S-So thick,” Connor says, voice weak with need. “Hank, please fuck me.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” Hank says with a laugh, drawing back.

The drag of Hank’s cock as he pulls out has Connor clenching down, trying to keep it in despite his words, and Hank’s breath catches but he doesn’t stop until only the head is in. The arm under Connor’s leg hitches him up, dragging him down the table as he’s bent nearly double, and then Hank pushes in again, tantalizingly slow, that teasing grin on his face.

Before Connor can use his leg to force Hank in faster, his cock brushes against his prostate. Connor’s whole body seizes as his breath leaves him, and Hank pulls out and then nudges it again, harder.

“Ah! Hank!” Connor throws his head back, clutching Hank’s shoulders as Hank hits his prostate a third time, deliberate and slow.

“I’ve got you,” Hank says, and he leans down again, capturing Connor’s lips and rolling his hips languidly.

Connor can barely focus on returning the kiss as Hank punches the air from his chest with each thrust. His own cock is drooling a steady puddle of precome onto his trembling stomach, and between Hank’s hand holding his ass off the table and the arm under his back, Connor can barely muster up the leverage to find some friction against Hank’s solid chest.

The pace remains slow and torturous, and Connor bucks impatiently, pulling with his calf, trying to push Hank faster, harder, _more_.

“Hank, _please_ ,” Connor whines into his mouth, and licks against Hank’s tongue, finally shoving a hand between them to touch himself.

“Dont,” Hank growls, and the sound goes straight to Connor’s dick, but he can’t resist grinding against his palm. The hand around his back disappears and then slips between them, slapping Connor’s hand away and grabbing his cock tight around the base. “I don’t want you coming too soon.”

“Then please Hank, ah, _ah!_ F-fuck me harder,” Connor says, and pulls Hank down, bucking his hips, sinking more of Hank’s cock into him.

Finally Hank picks up the pace, pulling out until just the tip is in, and then slamming home, dragging over Connor’s prostate each time. Connor shouts, eyes falling shut, meeting each thrust with his own. The smack of skin on skin, the wet sound of his hole being fucked, the staticy groans Hank tries to hold in his throat—each noise makes Connor’s cock twitch. He’s on the precipice, he wants to come so bad, but the grip around Connor’s cock is rigid.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hank says. Connor’s eyes slip open, and the air feels like it’s being sucked out of him at the sight of Hank’s soft smile.

His chest itches to be covered, to hide the scars and the sight of his self destruction from this perfect being. But he threads his fingers in Hank’s hair instead, cheeks burning at the gentleness in Hank’s face, and lets Hank’s gaze sweep across him freely.

“Be careful, Hank,” Connor says, quiet. “I’m already halfway in love with you.”

Hank’s eyes widen and his pace falters before picking up again, faster. Connor’s glad the table is so heavy and sturdy, or else it would be rocking alarmingly beneath the sudden strength of Hank’s thrusts.

“Fuck, Connor, don’t say shit like that!” Hank says, brow furrowing but that soft smile still pulling at his lips. It’s endearing how flustered Hank gets when he’s on the receiving end, and Connor grins.

Then Hank’s thumb caresses the side of Connor’s aching dick, and Connor gasps, rutting up against Hank’s chest, seeking more friction, the precipice of his orgasm so close but just beyond his reach. Hank strikes across that sweet spot and Connor sees stars, but with the vice around his dick, he’s left bucking helplessly. He can tell Hank is getting close too by the ways his hips stutter and he growls deep in his throat as Connor clenches around him.

“Hank, _ah,_ Hank please,” Connor cries, clutching hard at Hank’s shoulders, rocking against his chest and back into each thrust, overwhelmed. “I need to-to-to—” He can’t finish the sentence, his heavy tongue tripping over the words.

Hank’s teeth nip at his earlobe, and he growls into Connor’s sweat-slick jaw, “Come for me, Connor.”

The vice around his cock loosens, and then that big, hot hand is pumping his length and twisting around his cockhead, while Hank’s dick pounds him open, hitting his sweet spot over and over. Hank’s eyes are on his, hazy with lust and fascination, and Connor tries to hold his gaze, but the band of heat in his belly snaps and his eyes roll as he shakes apart in beneath Hank.

Hank catches the first shot of come in his hand and continues stroking Connor’s length, rubbing the come into his cock as another jet lands across his stomach. Then Hank’s hips still, and a pulsing, wet warmth fills him, Hank moaning as Connor clenches rhythmically around the cock from his own orgasm. The hand on Connor’s dick squeezes, and Connor whines and pants as waves of pleasure roll through his gut, come still oozing from his slit.

“Fuck, you’re so good, Connor,” Hank says, brushing their lips together, the motion of his hand slowing as Connor’s hips finally relax their rocking and he goes boneless beneath the android. “I’m so lucky CyberLife was dumb enough to give me to you.”

“I believe I’m the one who should be thanking CyberLife’s oversight,” Connor says. “If not for you I would have killed myself.” Too late he realizes the bluntness of the words, and the smile falls from Hank’s face, LED flashing briefly red, because it’s the truth, and they both know it.

Before Hank, Connor would work himself until he collapsed, throwing everything he could into cases. He ran himself into the ground as hard and as fast as possible because he needed to keep his thoughts occupied. Sleep was hard to come by and meals were energy bars and cigarettes. The fact that he’d survived as long as he had was a miracle.

While he’s still a workaholic, Hank is always eager to take a break and force something besides energy bars into Connor. It’s strange to be faced with so much care and worry in this house that’s felt vacant for three years. He can still remember the confused, bordering on angry look Hank had given him when he’d opened the fridge for the first time to make Connor eat and found it empty.

“You’re an idiot,” Hank finally snorts, and pushes himself up. His softening cock slips out of Connor, who shudders as come drips from his hole. Hank gently lowers Connor’s leg and grabs his hand, helping him upright.

“So I’ve been told,” Connor says, sitting up slowly. His thighs and ass ache in the best way.

Hank snags a dishrag from a drawer and wipes himself off before  offering it to Connor, who cleans the come off his stomach and from between his legs, resisting the impulse to stick his fingers in it to see what Hank tastes like. Maybe next time. He smiles to himself at the thought that there would be a next time.

Sliding off the table, he stumbles as his stiff legs take his weight, but Hank wraps an arm around his waist and holds him upright.

“Fuckin humans,” Hank says, rolling his eyes, but there’s a fond little smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“I believe you’re only fucking one human,” Connor says, and Hank sputters, yanking him close and scrubbing a hand through his hair roughly.

“You got that right,” Hank growls. “So you better start taking better care of yourself. You need to eat real food, like burgers. Burgers look amazing, and yet all you eat are those nasty bars that look like shredded cardboard glued together.”

“Of course, Hank. I’ll be sure to consult you on which food trucks contains the greasiest burgers,” Connor says.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Hank mutters, beginning to pull insistently at Connor’s waist, guiding him towards the hallway. “Even as an older model, I’m gonna be around a long time, and you’re still young. So don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with eating cardboard the rest of your life.”

Connor’s heart flutters at the words, and he lets himself be pulled down the hall and into his bedroom. Hank wants to stay with Connor, for them to be at each other’s sides for the rest of his life. Maybe Hank will change his mind—he’s only been his own android for a couple of months, and that’s nowhere near long enough to know what he want to do with the rest of his life. But Connor is content to have Hank’s hand across his back and against his hip, sides pressed tight together, as long as Hank will have him. He was lying when he said he was already halfway in love with Hank.

There’s no halfway about it.

“Time to see if you’ll finally get to sleep,” Hank says, pushing Connor towards his bed, albeit gently.

“Hank, I have to be up for work in an hour anyways,” Connor says, canting his head. There’s faint light glowing through the curtains, pale and milky. “And we should both wash up, we’re filthy.” He’s still naked from the waist down, his loose shirt barely covering his groin.

“We can clean up later. You’re supposed to be tired after sex, not ready for work!” Scowling, Hank steps forward and puts his hands on Connor’s shoulders, pushing down until Connor relents and sits on the edge of the bed. “Look, just take a day off for once in your life. Get some fucking sleep, Connor.”

He doesn’t feel particularly tired, and he still has coffee in the kitchen, which should be done by now. The words are halfway out of his mouth when Hank begins to tug off his CyberLife coat and his thought process dies. Hank catches his open mouthed look and smirks as he undoes the buttons of his shirt and shucks it too, revealing his sturdy, muscled torso and the thick synthetic hair trailing down his pelvis.

His mouth dries instantly, and he wants to wrap himself around Hank and run his hands through that dense carpet.

Putting one knee on the bed, Hank grabs Connor around the chest and hauls him backwards, practically tossing Connor into the pillows, and then drops unceremoniously next to him.

“That was hardly necessary,” Connor manages, once his brain is capable of processing anything besides the sight of Hank’s bared chest and that strong arm moving him so easily. “I am an adult who is capable of deciding when I need to rest, you know.”

“With you, it really is. Now,” Hank rolls onto his side and an arm falls across Connor’s stomach. “Go to sleep.”

Connor shifts until he’s facing Hank, and the arm tucks him close. He leans his head against Hank’s collar, closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of Hank’s inhumanely steady heart. Fingers brush the nape of his neck, and then card through his hair, nails lightly scratching his skin. Thought sinks away from him and the world becomes quieter and less, until all he’s left with is the vibration of Hank’s artificial breaths echoing through Connor’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> If u enjoyed my shameless smut, please drop me a comment and let me know!


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